LOTR Crew get schooled
by Breck
Summary: The guys from LOTR are at high school! A hideously overdone scenario, but making an admirable effort to be original. Full of drama and fun! BOROMIR CHAPTER IS UP! Hooray!
1. Intro

Okay, here's the deal. This is one of those "The-LOTR-crew-are-alive-and- well-in-the-real-world!!" kind-of-stories. Don't ask how they got here – maybe the psychic energy of twenty million fangirls was enough to summon them out of fiction and into reality.  
  
Most of the guys (and gals) are teens. They're in high school together (woot). I haven't bothered to be accurate in terms of ages of characters, but put people in the same grades as I thought appropriate. I might also dump characters that I can't fit in or who seem boring. Tell me if I've committed some sort of heinous crime in leaving out your favourite – I might just feel sorry for you.  
  
This is nowhere near as off-the-wall as my other LOTR fic, so if you're hoping for more It can get pretty lonely[...] action, you may be disappointed. It's a bit more of a character study, I guess, than an attempt to entertain. I am having fun writing it, though, so maybe it'll sell with you guys. Hope you like it.  
  
The Breckster

* * *

(Let's start it off with a most int-a-mer-est-ing letter...)

* * *

To Whom It May Concern:  
  
Hardie T. Meld Secondary School is far out in the West End of the city, where much of the wetlands have yet to be drained, and the deer are more of a nuisance than an appeal. Its misleadingly ordinary name was entirely intentional. Even today many local residents are surprised to find the school is not a member of the public board, and that their children will have to take the bus into the suburbs every morning for four years rather than attend nearby Hardie T. Meld. Others are even more surprised to find that the school is not the average private institution, either, and that no amount of money will cajole the administration into admitting students who do not meet its enigmatic requirements – which, I admit, very few people have ever actually read.  
  
Hardie T. Meld prides itself in the rather unique racial diversity of its students and staff, an element of school life that has been an intrinsic part of its identity since its founding in 1954. The school is considered, by those who know it, to be the foremost institution in the city in terms of promoting the pacific and mutually beneficial interaction between various races and ethnicities – particularly those that are inclined toward hostility. All in all, the history of the school is deemed to be a total success story.  
  
Return now, however, to the school's ordinary name. As far as I, school principal, am aware, there is and has never been a man (or woman) by the name of Hardie T. Meld, or at least not one that did anything to merit having a school named after him. Rather, this name was very convenient to the original founders (myself included), as it spoke volumes about the nature of the institution.  
  
There need not be anyone in history named Hardie T. Meld. All that matters is the letters in the name, and the fact that they might so conveniently be rearranged to spell another, more meaningful word: _Middle-earth_.  
  
Let the ordinary schools worry about standardized literacy tests. They'll never had to deal with mandates setting the maximum student age at two thousand years, or special orders of desks for a growing population of students under three feet tall.  
  
Welcome to what is sure to be another lovely year.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Mr. Elrond Half-Elven

Principal, Hardie T. Meld Secondary School


	2. Faramir

1  
  
FARAMIR  
  
School started up again today, thank God. I don't know how much more of that summer I could have taken – I mean, I can only spend so much time each day on my own. A guy can't live in isolation, you know? And I can only think of so many ways to entertain myself. I swear, I must have read every book in the library over the last two months. Wrote some nice songs, too, I suppose – though you can tell, listening to them, that I wasn't really into it a lot of the time.  
  
Oh, well. It could be worse. At least Dad's taken to ignoring me, rather than criticizing. And why shouldn't he ignore me? I'm of no interest to him anymore; big brother Borkus is graduating this year, meaning he's just a year away from military college and all Daddy's dreams coming true. Shit almighty, but sometimes...  
  
Anyway. My semester's not looking so bad. I've got art history first period, then physics, lunch (dear Lord, hope I pass that one), philosophy and English. As Pops would say, a heap of useless intellectual crap that won't get me through a day in the real world. Yeah, he's probably right. But it's what I do, you know? It's what feels right. I like writing, I like reading, I like thinking. Is that such a crime? Dad would think it was, I bet.  
  
Damn it! I think too much about that guy, always trying to please him. When am I going to learn it's just never going to happen? I've got to focus on something else...  
  
I'm in grade eleven this year. It's not so bad; you don't quite have to be making major decisions about your future yet, but the end is still in sight. I just have to make sure my grades stay up, though. I mean, not that it's ever been a problem – I pulled off a ninety-two percent average last year, which was nice – I just have to make sure I don't get distracted. And yeah, there are a few things that have a pretty good chance of distracting me.  
  
So basically the goal is to spend as much time at school and work as is possible – anything to avoid coming home. I'm in the after-school Quenyan and Sindarin language program, which takes up an hour and a half, twice a week – you get a credit for it if you put in enough hours. I'm going to try to join the band, if they need a guitar player, and I always do set design for the plays, so that's another thing that should be coming up soon. Then there's my job at Veggie Village, which takes up about fifteen hours a week.  
  
But thank God Dad let me drop out of Cadets! I guess he gave up on me, which is sort of disheartening and liberating at the same time. I'll admit I was going nowhere, and next to Boromir, who practically runs the show over there, I looked especially pathetic. I guess it's not that I don't have the skills or the discipline, it's just that, well... I don't really care. I don't want to do that sort of thing.  
  
Anyway, where was I? First day back, right. My locker's in the science wing, which is pretty cool – not in terms of its proximity to my classes, but because it's right next to all the interesting people.  
  
Aragorn's locker is just across the hall from mine. It's so weird that he's graduating this year; I mean, he's been, like, this permanent fixture in the school as long as I've been there. He's always been involved in everything cool, everything original. He basically runs the school, and he just radiates spirit. No wonder he got elected head boy – I voted for him myself, even. I mean, who else would you vote for? Not only is he smart, and popular, but he's just about the nicest, coolest guy you'll ever meet. He goes and hangs with freshmen hobbits at lunch – guys he doesn't even know – and you can just tell that it makes them feel great. He'll hold the door open for anybody, and give them a smile – even the homeliest little dwarf chick. And you can tell he means it, he's sincere. He's got nothing to gain – after all, he's already dating the prettiest, smartest, sweetest girl in the school, right?  
  
Well... in most people's opinions.  
  
Éomer's locker is right next to his. I think Éomer was the only guy who ever had any chance of beating Aragorn in the head boy race, but you could tell he didn't want it as much. After all, he and Aragorn are best friends, always have been. Some people even like Éomer better. I can see their point: he's really funny, and athletic, and creative. The ladies also seem to find him attractive. He is sort of the type, I guess: tall, blonde, well- built... and always smiling.  
  
But I have to admit that, for me, Éomer has really only ever been one thing – Éowyn's older brother. Shit, but that girl is something else. I know people my age aren't supposed to fall in love, not for real. But honestly... She's so pretty, and smart, and so... different. She's so unafraid to be herself. And she's only eight lockers away from me!  
  
I have to be honest with myself, though. She's never given me a second glance. I mean, we're even in some of the same classes, but we hardly ever talk. She probably has no idea I even exist. I am a bit of a dork, I guess. I mean, I'm not blind. I can see she's got her eyes on somebody else, but... Damn it, she'll never get him! I mean, personally, I'd choose Éowyn over Arwen any day, but Aragorn isn't the type to cheat. Can't she see that?  
  
Oh, well. Even if she weren't interested in him, what are the chances she'd ever take me? We're not exactly soul mates, as far as anybody else could see. She's a bit of a metalhead, you know, with all these magazine cutouts of Voivod and Rush and Metallica all over the inside of her locker. Me, I've got all my song lyrics magnetized to the tin-can walls, and right at the back, this old, dorky cutout of Simon and Garfunkel. I mean, really. What kind of Voivod fan is going to fall for a guy who idolizes Art Garfunkel? It's hopeless.  
  
But I really shouldn't act so dreary. Things aren't as bad as all that. I've got my friends, and my classes are cool, I guess... So things ought to work out okay. That's how I see it. 


	3. Éowyn

2  
  
ÉOWYN  
  
There is only one reason to come back to school in the fall (besides the fact that it's illegal not to, obviously), and that reason is: conquest!  
  
Now, don't look at me like I'm some sort of slut. This is different. This is the year. It has to be! Aragorn is graduating. It's my last chance. I know it sounds desperate and stupid to everybody else, but... shit, they just don't get it. I would boycott school for sure if it weren't for him. You've got to know him to understand. He's perfect! The dude is my dream guy, and I am so fucking in love with him. Hard to believe, right? I mean, I'm supposed to be all like, "Damn the Man!" and, "Anarchy is Freedom!" and he's the friggin' head boy of the friggin' school. How much more preppy can you get?  
  
But I'm in love with him! I'm in love with him, and somehow, someday, I have to make sure he knows.  
  
Well, at least I know he likes me. Get this: I was just standing at my locker today, right, putting up my posters, and he just came up behind me and started talking to me. Well, I mean... why shouldn't he? We've known each other forever, right? I guess it's just that last weekend it didn't seem like he was talking to me that much – you know, when he was over at our place, helping me and Éomer and Uncle Theo fix up the barn. Him talking to me – it was just kind of relieving, that's all.  
  
It basically went like this:  
  
"Hey, Wyn!" he said from behind me. I turned completely red – might as well have plastered my face with ketchup – but I don't think he noticed. I just turned around and said:  
  
"Hey! How's it going!"  
  
Very smooth-like, you know? All cool... Like the guy doesn't mean a thing to me.  
  
"Not so bad, not so bad," he said, with his gorgeous, gorgeous smile. "First day back, you know, so it hasn't quite hit me yet."  
  
We both laughed. God, he was hot.  
  
"It was so awesome of you to come over and help us with the barn on Sunday," I said.  
  
"Aw, it was fun," he said, and winked. _And winked_. "It's always great hanging out with you and Éomer. And your uncle's just the sweetest guy."  
  
"Yeah, Theo's cool, eh?"  
  
"For sure. The best. You guys are all great." Good Lord. He has this way of standing, I don't even know if it's intentional, but... Shit. I wanted to grab him and kiss him.  
  
"Anyway, I'd better be going," he said. "Arwen and I have to do morning announcements now." He made a face like this was some sort of terrifying challenge. "It's not easy running a school!"  
  
My heart turned to lead and tumbled down into my knees.  
  
"Yeah, sure," I said, with the best fake smile I could muster. "Have fun!"  
  
Damn it! It just makes me fume, the way that stuck-up, pansy-pants bitch of an elf chick follows him around day and night. And he doesn't see it! All he sees is her pretty eyes, and her perfect black hair, and her stupid little nose and her straight, white teeth... I ought to wring that skank's neck for stealing his heart like that! He deserves so much better. I mean, sure, I'm a year younger than he is, and I'm sure not as pretty as Arwen, and I don't have her grades... But I'm better for him! We're, like, on the same wavelength. We think the same. I just get him, you know? And I'm his best friend's sister. That should count for something, right?  
  
Anyway. Is there anything else worth telling about this stupid school? I have math (die, math, die!), and physics, and history and English. Nothing great. Tons of homework, I'm thinking. At least Éomer took all those classes last year, so he can help me out. I guess he's pretty cool, as brothers go. I mean, his taste in music is horrendous – almost embarrassing – and lately he's been flirting too much, which is disgusting. But overall, he's alright. He makes me laugh – always a good thing. I guess I don't plan on disowning him anytime soon.

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... And that's pretty much all I've got so far. I might continue... Well, I probably will. If people like it, I'll update sooner, and if not, I suppose I'll roll up into a fetal position and cry. ; ) Tell me what you think!!


	4. Frodo

* * *

3  
  
FRODO  
  
Well, I guess we're into it now. Day Two of the annual slog to the finish... And I'm not dead yet.  
  
I can't believe it's my second-last year already. It's not like I have any idea what I'm doing after school. It's awful how they expect you to be able to decide, just like that, on command. I don't even know what I want. I mean, I think I like a subject, and then I take a class with a teacher who hates me and suddenly it's my least favourite thing in the world. Yes, it's all very complicated.  
  
It turns out I kind of missed school, though. I didn't see Faramir much at all during the summer; I think he was working all the time, or something. And it's nice to be part of the group again. So often, during the holidays, I just felt like the days were drifting by and nothing was actually happening to fill in all those insubstantial minutes and hours. I don't go out much. I mean, really, would you? I'm three feet tall, for crying out loud. I really only feel at home among the other hobbits.  
  
I don't think Sam really loves it here, though. Poor Sam. He's such a nice guy, too, but most people can't seem to get beyond the "Chubby Hobbit!" image. Let's admit it, us hobbits are basically at the bottom of the barrel, as far as social standing goes. Has there ever been a hobbit head boy or girl? No, there has not. I looked it up. I figure people just think we're lazy, or stupid, or something. It's pretty unfair.  
  
Social inequality aside, it's not a bad school. Most of the people are cool. Aragorn is head boy this year, which is awesome. He really respects everybody, even us little people. He seems to like me, personally, too – I mean, he even comes over to my house sometimes. And I'm just a stupid grade eleven! What a guy... If I had half his confidence, I'd have it made.  
  
So, it's the gang and me, together again. Sam, Pip, Merry and I hang out all the time, and Faramir is usually with us, too. It must be embarrassing for him, sitting with all us hobbits at lunch and sticking out like a sore thumb, but he never says anything about it. He's a really great guy. He writes the most awesome songs – you'd think they were professional, or something. And he's such an intellectual. He knows everything about history, and mythology, and philosophy and all that stuff. Ask him anything! And humble, too, like you wouldn't believe. But I guess his home life is a bit screwed up. We don't talk about that, though.  
  
Merry and Pippin are another story. God, they're so funny, they might as well not even be hobbits. I mean, everybody likes them; they've always got some joke, or some ridiculous story, or else they're up to something crazy you just wouldn't believe. Merry's generally considered the smarter one – people think Pippin is a little slow, but he just has trouble focusing, that's all. I've heard him say the wisest things, out of nowhere... but then he always follows it up with some inane joke. It's like he doesn't want to be taken seriously. Funny guy...  
  
But I digress. I suppose I ought to jot down some details about my day... Here's a tidbit from lunch break.  
  
I was sitting next to Sam, as usual, and across from Faramir. Pippin and Merry were off buying their "four extra-large poutines, please," which they eat everyday without fail. (Where they get the money, heaven only knows – those wankers haven't worked a day in their lives.)  
  
Faramir frowned as he stared at a page in an alarmingly huge textbook. The end of his pen was rapidly disintegrating as he chewed it.  
  
"What major points are included in the principal philosophy of the Silvan existentialists of the early Third Age?" he said absently. As though we could help.  
  
"Um..." I said, hoping to give the impression that I was actually considering this inane question. Faramir looked up.  
  
"Oh, sorry, Frodo. Just talking to myself." He seemed a bit out of it, poor guy.  
  
"Not enough gravy by a long shot," Merry said suddenly, plopping himself down next to Faramir, an enormous carton of cheese-smothered fries in each hand. "Cheap-ass cafeteria."  
  
"I'll have yours if you don't want 'em," Pippin said politely, carefully arranging his own two cartons in front of him. Merry elbowed him in the ribs, and they both fell to shoving.  
  
Sam nodded glanced up from his thermos of mushroom soup, neatly packed by his Gaffer.  
  
"Here comes your brother, Faramir," he hissed. For some reason Sam is terrified of Boromir. I think it has something to do with being tackled in the ninth grade during an unusually rigorous (and totally impromptu) varsity pinball tournament at the community centre.  
  
Faramir made a face just as his brother came up behind him, whacking him in the back with a fist the size of my head by way of a friendly greeting.  
  
"Oy, F-bot! Whatcher doin'?" he growled, with his patently ridiculous grin. (Twenty percent of teeth lost, and counting.)  
  
"You're an ass, Borkus," Faramir said, wincing only slightly. "I'm doing my homework. Remember that word? You may have heard it before, on T.V. or something."  
  
"You did all that last night, you fuckin' nerd. Do somethin' else, eh? Gotta live a little!"  
  
"No thanks," Faramir said quietly, still reading.  
  
Boromir shrugged.  
  
It's almost alarming how different those two are, even physically. You could draw Faramir as a stick figure without sacrificing any degree of realism in terms of his weight, while Boromir is basically a tank. Faramir wears glasses and has calouses on the end of his fingers from playing guitar all the time, while his older brother ("Borkus," as only Faramir dares call him) wears size-seventeen steel-toed boots, and has calouses basically everywhere on his body from doing Lord only knows what. But albeit public behaviour suggesting the contrary – and this according to Faramir – they actually do like each other.  
  
"Eh, you hobbits joinin' the rugby team this year?" Boromir asked with a grin. He slapped Merry hard on the back, causing him to choke violently on a cheese curd.  
  
"Yeah, sure," Pippin said sarcastically. "Soon 's I write up my will, how 'bout it?"  
  
"Wusses. F-bot won't join either. I told him it'd be fine if he did," Boromir said, some of his grin disappearing.  
  
"Yeah, well..." Faramir was speaking quietly, his face practically buried in his book now. "We know we're both better off when Pops doesn't think I'm trying to steal any of your thunder."  
  
Boromir's face hardened. I saw him swallow once, apparently attempting to make eye contact with his feet.  
  
"It's not like that. You don't..." Boromir breathed in sharply, then forced a smile. "Don't go and talk like that. It's no good."  
  
He shook Faramir by the shoulders in a way I can only assume was meant to be reassuring.  
  
Faramir's lips tightened into a half-smile as he turned a page in his textbook. "See ya, Borkus."  
  
"Later, F-bot."  
  
With that, we were left in peace to finish our lunches, Sam still looking a bit unnerved, and Merry coughing intermittently.  
  
Anyway, apparent domestic tensions amongst my friends aside, I have pretty high hopes for this year. With a bit of luck, I'll be soaring through my courses and figuring out where I'm headed. Fingers crossed, right?

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Hooray!! I might post again soon. Please review. I need my existence validated.

(To you New Brunswickers, sorry "real" poutine did not star in this chapter. I ran out of brown sugar.)


	5. Arwen

Hello again! Here's the chappie of everyone's favourite character, Arwen Undomiel! Little disclaimer: Obviously I don't own LOTR. However, don't go looking for "Telepalda", "Laureglin", and "Lithwen" in your books; I made those gals up. So I suppose I own them... But I'll share them, don't worry. Yes, three gossipy elf-chicks. My gift to the world. No need to thank me, I'm sure.

* * *

4  
  
ARWEN  
  
How can I be stressed out already? It's only the first week...  
  
Look, I don't need everybody to love me. I'm not saying that. It's just that... Well, does anybody like being insulted? You'd think the Eldar would be more couth than to go around smearing each other's reputations across bathroom stall walls. I guess they don't think I care. They must believe I'm some stuck-up bitch, too self-absorbed to notice that the entire elven population of our school talks trash about me behind my back. No, correct that – they don't even bother to be particularly secretive about it anymore.  
  
I don't mean too sound hyper-sensitive, it's just... Okay, here's what I heard Telepalda and Laureglin saying a couple of days ago:  
  
I was standing outside the music room, just waiting for Mr. Bombadil to show up and let me pick up my flute, and those two were standing at their lockers, across the hall from me.  
  
Telepalda was looking at me out of the corner of her eye.  
  
"I hate that bitch!" she hissed, in rather poor Quenya. I tensed up, but tried not to show I'd heard.  
  
"I know," Laureglin said, leaning in close toward her friend. "You know how she keeps her marks up, right?"  
  
Telepalda scoffed. "Well, her dad's the principal. _Obviously_."  
  
Laureglin snorted (hot stuff) in reply. "That's not the whole story, you know. Do you think it's a coincidence her lowest mark is in math – the only subject she takes with a female teacher?"  
  
The other elf held back laughter. "You're such an idiot, Laur."  
  
"I'm serious! She hits on the teachers, like, big-time. I was in her History class last year."  
  
"Ew!"  
  
The two were giggling like total spazzes by this point, and I was ready to explode. Yeah, I know what they were saying was idiotic... but still, it got to me.  
  
"And I just hate," Telepalda continued, "how she always has to have the best of everything. You know what I mean?"  
  
"What, like, clothes and stuff?"  
  
"Not just that. I mean, think about it. Her and her boyfriend..."  
  
"Ooh, _Elessarrr_," Laureglin cooed, growling the final "r". I should have slapped her, right there, I swear...  
  
"Yeah... But whatever, it's more than that. Do you think _he_ wanted to be head boy this year? Fuck, no! She made him do it. She just needs that kind of thing to make her feel... you know, big."  
  
Laureglin snorted again. "Big? Speaking of which... did you notice she put on a wee bit of weight over the summer?"  
  
"Oh, my God, I totally forgot about that... Didn't I tell you? Lithwen heard that she's pregnant."  
  
Laureglin gasped. "And Aragorn was gone all summer! She was cheating on him!"  
  
"I know, I bet it was with Haldir," Telepalda whispered. "He's always at her grandmother's place..."  
  
"Ew, aren't they related?"  
  
Telepalda paused. "No... I don't think so, anyway. Ew! Wouldn't that be sick if they were?"  
  
"Shut up, shut up, I think she heard us," Laureglin hissed, looking over at me. And with that, they both scampered away, stifling laughter.  
  
Argh, why are people so stupid? Why can't they just leave me alone? It's all because my atar's the principal, I just know it. You know, I asked him if he'd consider leaving the position while I'm in school, and do you know what he did?  
  
He laughed at me!  
  
So, there I was, totally wrecked for the afternoon, feeling like crap, so upset I couldn't even say "thank you" to Mr. Bombadil when he finally came by and opened the door for me. I was hurrying towards my locker after that, ready to explode, when – thank the Valar – Aragorn showed up.  
  
"Hey," he said, smiling – until he noticed my expression. "What's the matter?"  
  
"Oh, nothing," I said, trying to sound like I wasn't ready to tear my own hair out. "Just... people."  
  
"What? People?" He put his arm around my waist and directed me over to the water fountain. "Who is it?"  
  
"Nobody... oh, everybody!" I sputtered, and buried my face in his chest. I felt like such an idiot, but I couldn't... Oh, God, I can't just not care about these things!  
  
Aragorn was rubbing my back, telling me to _hush_, that it would all be alright. God, I love him... He is the best thing that's ever happened to me. Honestly. And that's saying a lot, considering.  
  
"Shh, it's okay," he murmured, his face buried in my hair. I just breathed in his scent... Lord, men smell so sexy. Elf boys are so clean, and sweet, but Aragorn... Mm... Musky, I guess you could say.  
  
"I know," I whispered, after a moment. "I'm sorry for being so stupid. I'm not usually like this." I wiped my eyes on my sleeve.  
  
"I know," he said gently, and kissed my forehead. "It's alright. Everybody goes crazy sometimes."  
  
"I'm sorry," I said again, softly this time. Aragorn sighed and pulled me into a tight, warm hug. I caught a few icy glares from girls walking by, but at this point, I couldn't care less. It always seems that everything's going to be okay, when Aragorn's around...  
  
"Let's go home," he whispered, gently taking my flute case from my hand, and I let him lead me to my locker. I'd let that man lead me anywhere.  
  
Like I said, I can't believe it's the elf girls in this school who are the bitches. I mean, you should hear our parents! They're always on about, "Those human girls..."-this, and "The men's poor influence..."-that... Look, if we're bitches (which, I can tell you, a lot of us are), it sure as hell isn't the human girls' fault. They are so much nicer than us, honestly. Like, take Éomer's sister – she's so quiet and sweet, never says anything mean about anybody!  
  
Anyway, I guess you're sick of hearing me complain. I'll try to be more upbeat next time... Meaning, of course, that I hope I'll have more to be upbeat about.


	6. Aragorn

In hindsight, this chapter is a little short. Sorry, Aragorn fans. I'll do another one soon.

* * *

5  
  
ARAGORN  
  
Well, I suppose it wasn't a totally catastrophic start to the year. I mean, aside from people's personal problems, things are actually going okay. Éomer is in a lot of my classes, and Arwen is in third-period English with me, so I certainly lucked out in terms of scheduling. I forgot how much I miss these people, when I was gone over the summer. It's great to be in the middle of things again... Wow, never thought I'd be saying that! Last year I was all about getting away from everything, being my own man... I guess two months on my own up north cured me of the hermit disease. That and the blackflies... Honestly, I now worship DEET.  
  
I'm having girl troubles though, immature as that sounds. Arwen is totally stressed out, and I don't know what to say to her. Of course, Éomer is no help – all he ever says regarding the matter is "PMS!" and then laughs. God only knows why the ladies find him so attractive. His little sister is my other problem – this is going to sound a little weird. I had this odd feeling that she had... you know, a crush on me, or something. She didn't actually ever say anything, it's just... I don't know, maybe the way she looks at me? So I was kind of feeling uncomfortable about it, kind of not talking to her as much. But then I got to thinking, _how arrogant is that, just assuming every girl who's nice to you is in love with you?_ So now I'm being friendly with her again. It's all very confusing.  
  
But anyway, back to the Arwen thing. She was so odd at dinner the other day! She asked Elrond if he thought she looked fat. Yeah, really! Five-foot- nine and a hundred and fifteen pounds... That's friggin' obese. Of course, Elrond just laughed and said, "Elves can't get fat, dear. That's a human thing." Well, it's true, I guess... Also a "hobbit thing," and a "dwarf thing," though, which dear old Peredhil failed to remember on this occasion.  
  
I think I ought to do something for her, something nice, just to make her feel better. I should write her a song, or something. Not that I'm very good at it, but I kind of know the elvish style, what with practically being an honourary elf myself. Or I could get Boromir's brother to write me one... That would be cool. Or maybe I'll just get her some flowers.  
  
So, on a more relaxed note, I figure I'll go hang with Éomer at his uncle's house tomorrow. Aside from the hobbits' places, it's the best place to be if you want to have fun. His uncle Théo is such a cool old guy, and seems to think we're all the greatest kids on Earth. He also sees no need to restrict alcohol – so things can, on occasion, get a little messy. Fun, but messy.  
  
I guess I'm sort of hoping Éowyn won't be there – but that's just stupid, isn't it? She probably has no interest in me whatsoever. Maybe I ought to ask Éomer about it... But that would be even more stupid. Huh... You'd think I, of all people, would be more self-assured. Just goes to show...  
  
So I guess that's the plan. Wish me luck... Let's hope I won't need it.

* * *

Little survey: Should I ressurect Théodred? I'm leaning towards "no", just because I don't have much to work with in terms of references to his personality, but if there are any Théodred fangirl/boys out there (a rare breed), yell at me and I might reconsider.


	7. Boromir

Hey, there. Little snafu in the last chappie: I forgot that female elvish names aren't supposed to end with an "a", so "Telepalda" is actually a stupid name for an elf maiden. However, seeing as you're all in such awe of my elf-naming abilities (or lack thereof), I figure we can ignore this little glitch and get on with the story. Right?

Ooh, look how long this chapter is... Can _you_ tell who Breck's favourite character is??

* * *

6  
  
BOROMIR  
  
God... Where to start, where to start...  
  
Um, I guess everybody gets a little confused sometimes. I mean, nobody's always... you know... on top of everything, right? No, of course not. I mean, I don't think so... Shit, what am I saying?  
  
Fuck it. Anyway, I was back to school this week. Yeah, I know... party! Well, it's not like I was really enjoying my summer anyhow. I mean, Faramir was always out, for one reason or another, and Aragorn was off "finding himself" up north, and... well, Lord knows I can't hang out with Éomer when Aragorn's not around. Believe me, you've never seen anything so pathetic in your life.  
  
So I guess the good part of it is I'm not feeling so lonely anymore... But then, I sort of still am. I guess I kind of forgot how hard it was to just be... me... in front of other people. I mean, with Dad, all I have to do is agree. All I have to do is go running every morning, work out an hour or so every day, and basically give every indication of wanting to run the Armed Forces once I escape from high school.  
  
Which I do... sort of. I mean, I think I do... Fuck, what else _can_ I do?  
  
I'm guess what I'm saying is, at home, living this lie is just so damned easy. Dad _wants_ to be in denial. He's real happy with it. But I know what everybody else sees... a great big idiot. Shit, you know, I can't even convince Dad I failed science last year. He thinks the teacher was prejudiced against me, or something. And the scariest thing is, he almost has me _believing_ this crap, half the time...  
  
Oh, Christ, I wish I was more like Faramir. He's so... what's that word? ...Articulate, that's the one. He always knows what to say... or, rather, how to say what he means. God, nobody ever knows what I mean. Even I don't, most of the time.  
  
I dunno, I guess that's why I can't get away from all this physical crap. You know, rugby, and punching stuff, and whatever. It's not that I don't see that it's stupid, it's just that... Well, I think it's pretty much all that I _can_ do.  
  
I'm glad I admitted that. It feels good... Dad won't let me say that kind of stuff; he tells me I ought to realize what a great person I am, that sort of crap. Huh. Great, eh? Yeah, so great I got a thirty-eight in science last year. And that's workplace science, boys and girls... That's right, the easy one, the one the idiots are supposed to be able to figure out. Honestly, my baby brother is a year behind me in school and he could do all my school work a hundred times better than I can. He could pass all my stupid tests without studying, and he could get all those grades and awards that Dad's already convinced I deserve. Argh... What I'd give, to be just... not so _stupid_... for one day...  
  
So, anyway, I got home first yesterday. I guess I always do; I mean, I'm the one with the car. I would give Faramir a drive, but he's always doing something after school anyway. And, even when he isn't... Well, if Dad sees him in the car with me, he always makes some scene out of it, demanding that Faramir pay half the price of gas whenever he gets a lift from me. Right, real logical. Especially considering Dad pays for all _my_ gas, and all _my_ repairs, and has never once even _suggested_ that I get a job in order to contribute in the slightest to these things.  
  
Anyway, I guess I wasn't intentionally being sneaky... I mean, ask anybody I know, I'm the least-capable person on Earth when it comes to being subtle... But, anyway, I guess I was trying not to stumble across dear old Dad upon arriving home, so I sort of... um... climbed through the bathroom window. Um, yeah... that's a bit embarrassing. ...But at least I fit through! Ha...  
  
Right. Well, Dad stays home all day. He really doesn't get out much at all, anymore... Just likes to sit in his office, watch the news, read his books and make his plans. I try not to ask too many questions, but he's always telling me stuff I don't want to know, anyway. Like, well... Okay, everybody knows Dad isn't particularly fond of Aragorn, but I wish he didn't feel the need to share his "conspiracy theories" regarding how my friend is getting such high marks in his classes. I mean, really, I don't need to hear this stuff. It's enough that _I'm_ a total loser; do I really have to have my dad constantly reminding me that _he's_ a complete spazz, as well?  
  
Um... I think I just went off on a tangent. (Is that the right word? ...Crap, I've got to start reading more.) So, anyway, I got in through the first-floor bathroom, and from there I was able to sort of quietly make my way down to the basement. I spend a lot of time down there, especially in the summer. I mean, it's nice and cool, and it's got all my gym stuff... And it's the least likely place for Dad to be, considering he doesn't like stairs these days. (He's having trouble with his hip.)  
  
So, right... I got downstairs, and I sat down and opened my backpack. Did I pull out my homework, you ask? No, of course not, that would have been the _normal_ thing to do! Nope, I pulled out pamphlets. Dozens of 'em! Ha... Stupid things, I ripped them all up afterwards, anyway... They were those employability pamphlet things. You know, get them in your guidance office, that sort of crap. I guess I just wanted to see if there was anything out there in the world besides getting blown to pieces before the age of thirty. There isn't, really... not for me, anyway, unless you consider a career as a professional rugby player an actual option.  
  
This isn't something I've ever actually told anybody, but I'd actually like to join Peace Keepers... Instead of the Army, you know? But, well, the issue came up one day at dinner... not the issue of me joining, of course, just the idea in general... And you know what Dad called them? "Glorified social workers", that's what he said. And then he laughed, of course, and told me how much better I was going to be than all those "deluded attention- seekers".  
  
Crap, I my life is screwed.  
  
So, anyhow, after ripping up these stupid pamphlets and basically giving up all hope of ever making anything worthwhile of myself, I got to work doing what I do best – punching my old bag. (No, not my dad! Ha... That was too close to the truth to be funny.) It's nice and... how do you call it? Monotonous, I think that's it. I like how you can sort of just drift away, how your arms just sort of tense up and start going all on their own, finding that rhythm... Of course I know rhythmic exercise is terrible in terms of self-defense, but honestly, who's ever going to pick a fight with me? I figure I can take things at my own pace.  
  
I don't know how long I was down there, but I was pretty sweaty by the time Faramir found me and told me to "take it easy". Take it easy, he says! When was the last time I was seriously taking things easy? God, everything's stressful these days, even the things that are supposed to kill the stress. I guess I kind of blew him off, but he took it pretty well. He sort of just sat down on one of the benches, and asked me to sit down with him.  
  
"Why don't you go hang out with your friends?" he wondered.  
  
"They're busy," I muttered. It may or may not have been true – it's just my generic excuse for not wanting to be around people.  
  
Faramir sighed and crossed his arms. "You gotta get a girlfriend, or something."  
  
"Ha!" I snorted. "Yeah, right. _That's_ going to happen in the next century."  
  
"Well, you have to do _something_," he insisted. "Get a hobby, honestly... It's not good for you, being so super-focused."  
  
"I'm not as focused as you think," I said.  
  
Faramir sighed again, then rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I know," he said. "I guess I mean that you ought to be focused on something positive, something you enjoy... Not just on what Dad wants you to do."  
  
Yeah, easy for him to say. The hard part is, these things Dad wants me to do are the things he's trained me to do my entire life. So now I can't do anything else. I'm stuck, I'm stuck in this stupid trap and I can't get out. What a hellish existence, to be totally skilled at doing the one thing you're totally sick of having to do... I'd give anything to be like Faramir, to be able to write, and sing, and think... But I can't, it's not me. I am what I am, no matter if that's not much at all.  
  
Don't worry about me, though, I'll get over it... I just have phases like this, you know? Ha, I bet you that by this time next week, I'll be so totally into this so-called life of mine that I'll deny ever having written this.  
  
Anyway, I guess I'm seeing people tomorrow... Aragorn, and them. That'll be good; it'll get me out of the house, at least, and that's something. Faramir needs the car for work, though, so I'll have to walk. Won't Daddy be proud – his darling little boy getting even _more_ physical activity, getting even _closer_ to his goal of being a lieutenant, or a general, or being sent home in a coffin with a little medal for Dad to remember me by... I'm sure he'd be happy with any one of those, so long as nobody else he knows does any better.  
  
I guess that's it. I'll see you again later – hopefully when I'm feeling a little more sane.

* * *

This has sort of turned from "LOTR crew get schooled" to "LOTR crew go to the shrink" over the last few chappies, so I figure the next bunch will be a little more light-hearted. And... um... unless somebody else is fascinated by Théodred's limp and lifeless body in the Two Towers film, I'm just going to leave him out. (Sorry, Carolyn, I'm really having trouble inventing his personality... Maybe YOU could write a tribute to him!) 

NOTE TO HOOLOOVOO: Your vote doesn't count. You like Legolas, so your brain is obviously made of peanut butter and no one can take you seriously as a result. Go drown your sorrows in a bucket of cauliflower, spazzmuffin. (There will eventually be a Legolas chapter, though, if that makes you feel any better.) I love you!!

NOTE TO VOLDIE: I thought I told you to ignore the "age difference" stuff! And even if you had missed that, isn't the Éowyn/Éomer age difference a bit of a random one to pick on? I mean, consider the Boromir/Faramir one that I've just ignored. Consider the difference between Frodo and Pippin. Consider Aragorn and Arwen, for that matter! Some people's kids, I tell ya... I love you, Christie. Please come back and review some more, O queen of randomness.

NOTE TO EVERYBODY ELSE: You're all beautiful and I love you.


End file.
